I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
Category: Uncategorised
I bought a new parka; I hadn’t for some time,
really only once in my adult life and years ago at that.
I had many parkas before, as a child.
You had to, around here.
There is no fashion in a parka. Parkas are boring.
It is all practical. Not like a ski jacket,
or an overcoat, or whatever was fashionable
at the time.
My Dad had a parka, I remember that,
blue with a hood, and deep pockets.
He may have had more than one,
but the one I remember was blue. And warm
Fathers seem to never grow cold.
They watch hockey games and shovel snow,
the parka protection from the elements,
as your feet freeze and cheeks grow white.
Fathers, like parkas, are sensible.
Consistent. They stand against the cold
providing protection and warmth.
I wear a parka.
© 2011 j.g. lewis
Coming out of the bottle, come on like a disease
A little slow at first, I’ve not lost my thirst,
but I’m past my misery
It’s taken distance, taken space, taken time I can’t replace
I take a few steps back, from this frozen track, and I finally see my face
I’m here now, where I thought I needed to be
But the need was not as great as the need to be me
Days of skyscraping buildings, nights on barren streets
you rarely see kindness, feel a warm breath,
there’s no mercy and too much greed
It’s taken away my confidence, my will, and all my strength indeed
There is no friendship here, when all’s said and done, not even one in need
Time to leave; I’m not sure I’ll be free
I can go anywhere and not know anybody
I needed to be where I could be more than a stranger
I needed to feel so much more than the danger
I needed to hear another point of view
I’ve heard what I need; now I think I need to hear you
Give me a drink, give me a couple of days
Give me a bus ticket back
and the time to find my way
The things you never wanted, things you never said
Keep on rolling around
in the back of my head
The nights move cautiously onward, swallow up the day
Taste a dose of bitterness, in the comfort of others
unlikely subjects along the way
I’ve taken advice from common tarot card readers
Sidewalk mystics and a string of bottom feeders
They say now is the time, but never in this place
I should save all my effort, save all my face
Move on, I won’t stay
Move where, I can’t say
Maybe there’s a place
some sort of middle ground
Maybe I’m lost
Maybe I can’t be found
I can’t stay any longer than a couple of days
if I can find my way back
You know I’ve come a long way
Maybe there’s a process or maybe there’s a place
Maybe there is a way
not to show my disgrace
© 2015 j.g. lewis
